THE DEVIL KNOWS MY NAME

DARLA

Oh God.

Of all the places we could have collided again, it had to be here beneath these blinding lights, on this stage, with every hungry eye in the room fixed on me like I'm something to be consumed.

"May I introduce you all to our newest Velvet Rose," Desiree purrs into the microphone. "It's her very first shift, gentlemen. She's completely untouched."

The hushed whisper of awe fell over the room, and I felt the heat of everyone's eyes on me. My lungs forgot how to work.

Because he was standing at the end of the runway.

And the second his gaze locked onto mine, recognition hit him like a blow.

His expression changed in a way that was subtle yet impossible to miss, and his jaw locked tight with something dangerously controlled.

Mr. Lawson.

For a heartbeat, the world tilted.

Wait a minute... what the fuck is he doing here in the first place?

I thought he was a decent man.

God, I'm an idiot.

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in desire like the others, and I refused to be the one who looked away first.

Don't you dare look at me like I'm the disgrace.

You're standing in the same room.

"Kysa is as intelligent as she is beautiful," Desiree continued smoothly. "I'm sure you all agree."

A few appreciative chuckles rose from the crowd as the men moved closer to the stage, circling slowly and studying me with open interest. I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and forced my practiced smile into place, shaping my lips into something confident and untouchable even though I felt anything but steady inside.

If I was going to burn for this, then I would burn spectacularly.

"Gentlemen," Desiree said with a sharp smile, "who wants to be the first man Kysa spends the night with?"

They did not hesitate.

One by one, they stepped forward in tailored suits and polished shoes, expensive watches catching the light as they introduced themselves with easy confidence and charm that felt calculated.

"Jonathan," a blond man said as he lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles, holding my gaze slightly longer than necessary. "It's a pleasure."

"Likewise,"

"Perkins," another man said with a confident smile.

"Delighted."

After that, the names began to blur together.

They were polished, attractive, wealthy, and self-assured men who were used to getting exactly what they wanted because they could afford it.

All of them except one.

Donomie Lawson had not moved from his place at the edge of the room.

He stood apart from the others with a glass of scotch in his hand, his posture rigid and his gaze fixed somewhere ahead as though he was trying to distance himself from what was happening.

As though this had nothing to do with him.

"I will start the bidding," a voice called from the back. "Thirty thousand dollars."

A few of the men chuckled.

"Fifty thousand."

"Seventy-five thousand to spend the night with me," another man called confidently, his voice cutting clean through the murmurs.

I glanced around.

They had told me about this part. I would receive twenty-five percent of the final price on top of my wage if I accepted one of them.

At the time, it had sounded abstract. Now it felt very real.

"Eighty-five."

"One hundred!" another man called.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Donomie set his scotch down with quiet finality before turning toward the exit.

He was leaving.

He was actually leaving.

"Him," I called out before I could stop myself.

Donomie kept walking.

"That man there." I lifted my hand and pointed directly at his retreating back. "The one heading for the door."

"Mr. Silver!" Desiree called.

He stopped but did not turn around.

"Kysa has chosen you," she called.

Donomie turned, his eyes catching Desiree's before they met mine. "She doesn't measure up to what I had in mind," he said.

I glared at him.

"That is not how this works, and you know it, Mr. Silver," Desiree replied coolly. "Our girls make the choice. If Kysa wants you, then Kysa gets you."

His gaze shifted to me, and his chin lifted in defiance. "I'm not interested."

A flush crept across my face.

This might have been the most humiliating moment of my life.

Fuck him.

"Mr. Silver, you play by the rules or you hand in your membership." Desiree sneered.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, clearly annoyed, and stepped toward me until he was only inches away.

"One hundred and thirty!" another man called from the back.

Donomie stood in front of me, inches away from my face, and we glared at each other.

We stared at each other, anger ricocheting between us in a silent, electric charge.

And I realized exactly what was fueling it.

It wasn't the bidding.

It was the fact that he was here, that I had thought he was someone special.

I raised an eyebrow, and he didn't break eye contact.

Then he stretched his hand toward me, silent and deliberate, and I took it.

"This way," he murmured.

"Let's get this over with."